The stew was thick and dark, steam rising from the bowl in heavy curls that smelled of bone and root and long-boiled meat. Bread, rough and dense, soaked slowly in the surface, softening with each moment. Heat pressed against their faces, the hearthfire to their left breathing waves of warmth that licked the chill from exposed skin.
For the first time since leaving the estate, Kel's body was truly warm.
It felt… wrong.
His fingers curled around the wooden spoon, the grain of it rough beneath his gloves. The moment he lifted it, faint tremors of exhaustion ran along his wrist—easy enough to still, but not to deny.
Across from him, Reina ate in quiet, measured motions. No sound. No wasted movement. Each bite chosen, not taken. Her cloak was unfastened at the throat now, just enough to move comfortably, but not enough to let her guard sleep.
Landon leaned slightly nearer to the fire, spoon scraping the bottom of his bowl with the enthusiasm of someone who had made peace with harsh meals long ago.
Around them, The Brass Dagger breathed.
Low conversation.
The clink of mugs.
The occasional bark of laughter that died a little too quickly.
It was then, as the hum of the tavern settled around their table, that another current slipped through the room.
Not talk of ale.
Not talk of coin.
Talk of stars.
"…three reacted for me," a man at the next table was saying, voice just loud enough to bleed between crackles of fire. "Three. In the Circle of Initiation. You can ask the chaplain yourself."
Someone scoffed.
"Aye, three. Let me guess. The Howling Wolf, Broken Spear, and some farmer's constellation like The Plowman's Crown."
Low laughter.
"Mock all you want," the first man retorted. "When you only get one constellation to react, you cling to it like a lover. I had choice. I chose The Iron Archer. Best thing for northern hunts. Bows don't tire as fast. Neither do I."
Kel's hand, stilling above his stew, lowered slowly.
His eyes did not move.
But his hearing sharpened.
Further back:
"My lad awakened last month," another voice rumbled, thick with ale. "Only one constellation answered. The River Blade. Good for close combat. Not much else. I was hoping for something higher in the astral ladder. But—"
A third man sneered.
"Be glad he got anything at all. Plenty stay at Mortal Origin till death. Your boy's at least breached Astral Initialization. One foot on Tier Two is still better than no path."
Snorts of agreement.
Someone at the bar muttered:
"Tier Two. Tier Three. Path Seekers. Celestial Growth. All fancy talk. You know what matters against northern monsters? Whether your blade breaks when their jaws don't."
The words rolled through the tavern, sticking to smoke and steam.
Kel's gaze lowered to his bowl.
Tier Two – Astral Initialization.
Tier Three – Path Seeker.
The official structure of the world's strength—twelve stages marching upward toward Apotheosis, toward thrones and godhood. Titles and paths he had read about, studied, watched… and rejected.
In his old world, these had been menu options, build paths, optimization routes.
Here, they were bones and blood and fate.
Near the far wall, someone slammed a mug down.
"No, listen," a younger man argued, voice strained with stubborn fear. "Sword isn't enough if the beast's hide is thicker than steel. You need hammers. Heavy blows. Or war pikes."
"What you need," an older hunter rasped, "is a constellation that doesn't crumble when the cold bites the soul. Star Attunement without Astral Divergence is useless if your mind breaks before your body."
The talk drifted in threads:
"How many constellations answered you?"
"Fifteen… but I chose The Twin Hammers."
"Fifteen? Hah. I had four. Still reached Tier Four before you."
"Heard someone in the capital had twenty-three respond. Twenty-three. Ended up mad by Tier Six. Brain split between too many astral paths…"
Kel's fingers tightened around the spoon.
Eighty-eight constellations in the sky.
One chosen starter.
One "path" to define your entire life.
He had never liked that system.
Not in the game.
Not now.
To him, every "path" was a prison written in star-patterns.
He raised the spoon to his mouth mechanically, tasting warmth without really tasting it.
Across from him, Reina's eyes had shifted toward the talking groups, pupils subtly narrowed.
Landon had paused mid-bite, listening with a mix of curiosity and something like defensiveness.
Sixteen… Kel thought, glancing at him. He's already past the awakening age.
Reina too.
At fifteen, the Astral Awakening ceremonies began—standing under sacred sky arrays, within circles carved with ancient sigils, waiting for constellations to respond. Some people had one resonate. Some had many. A few had none.
At that moment, a subtle laughter rose from a table behind them.
"…you still think dual blades are best for north beasts?" a woman asked, amusement clear in her tone. "You and your Tier Three tricks. Try piercing hide that's hardened past your Path Seeker level."
"I've got Celestial Growth Phase backing me," a man shot back. "My constellation amplifies speed. Monsters can't hit what they can't see."
"And yet," she replied dryly, "you still came back missing half your team."
The silence that followed was heavier than any joke.
Kel set his spoon down.
He let the warmth of the stew rest in his chest a moment.
Then he turned his gaze to the two people sitting with him.
Reina sensed it immediately.
Her attention focused fully on him.
Landon looked up, still mid-chew.
Kel's eyes were calm.
But something in them—something layered beneath frost and restraint—held a directness that made both of them straighten slightly.
"Landon," Kel said quietly, "you're sixteen."
Landon blinked. "Last autumn, yes."
Kel's tone did not change.
"So you've already undergone your Astral Awakening. At fifteen."
A small nod. "All standard north territories do."
Kel continued.
"And Reina," he said, turning his gaze to her, "you turned fifteen this year."
Reina inclined her head.
"I did."
The tavern noise faded around them, not truly lessening, but becoming indistinct—as though someone had drawn a thin veil between their table and everyone else.
Kel's voice lowered.
Not to whisper.
To sharpen.
"You've both stood under the sky," he said, "and had constellations answer you."
His eyes did not leave theirs.
"So tell me," he asked softly, "which star did you choose to bind your first steps to?"
For a moment, neither answered.
Landon's jaw flexed.
Reina's fingers closed around the edge of her bowl.
Not in fear.
In calculation.
Reina spoke first.
"Why ask that," she said quietly, "now?"
Kel's gaze did not waver.
"We are heading into territory where astral paths will matter," he replied. "Against northern monsters, aura and steel alone are often not enough."
His lips curved the slightest bit, without warmth.
"If we are to walk into Scarder Lake's shadow," he thought, but did not say, I must know what pieces the world has given you. And what chains it has already wrapped around your souls.
Aloud, he simply said:
"I would like to understand how you fight when your lives are on the line."
Landon swallowed his last bite.
Then exhaled.
His eyes fell to his own hand, flexing once, as if remembering the feeling when the sky had first burned above him.
"You already saw how I fight," he muttered. "In the contest."
Kel tilted his head.
"I saw how your body fights," he said. "Not how your stars do."
That made Landon pause.
Reina watched him steadily, as if curious as well.
The silence stretched.
Then Landon spoke.
Landon's Star
He leaned back slightly in his chair, eyes unfocusing briefly as he reached back to that memory.
The circle of white stone.
The chill of the night.
The chaplain's voice reciting names of constellations as old as empire.
"I had three answer me," he said, voice low. "At the Awakening."
Reina's brows rose a fraction.
Three was not enormous.
But it was not nothing.
Landon's lips twitched faintly.
"The Burning Ram.The Vigilant Wall. And The Dormant Mountain."
Kel's eyes sharpened a degree.
Reina spoke.
"All of them are in the lower Astral Crown," she said. "Grounded, defensive, or frontal assault constellations. None from the high war branches."
Landon snorted softly. "Trust a noble education to say it like that," he muttered.
But there was no heat in it.
Only resigned humor.
He continued, more quietly.
"The priest said Burning Ram was for those who charge without thinking too much. More force. More momentum. Good for vanguard idiots."
His expression flickered.
"It tempted me. For a moment."
Then he exhaled.
"Vigilant Wall is for shield-bearers. Guardians. Those who stand and don't move. Its path leads toward fortress work, battlefield anchors. But…"
He lifted his hand.
Fingers roughened by training.
"I chose The Dormant Mountain," he said at last.
Kel's gaze deepened.
Reina watched him without blinking.
"Why?" Kel asked.
Landon's jaw tightened.
Then relaxed.
"Because it looked quiet," he answered simply.
He shifted, as if feeling that quiet still sitting somewhere beneath his ribs.
"The seven points of the constellation sit low in the northern quadrant," he said. "You barely see it unless the night is black and the air is clear."
His eyes unfocused again.
"They say its path is slow. Heavy. That its earlier tiers don't shine as fast as others."
He looked at his own hands again.
"But when mountains move… they don't stop."
Kel's fingers tapped once on the table.
Endurance. Late potential. Growth that starts as burden.
That fits him.
Landon shrugged, almost defensive.
"If I'm going to be slow in mind anyway," he muttered, "I'd rather be slow in body with purpose. The priests said Dormant Mountain is suited for those who refuse to stay down. I thought…"
His voice grew lower.
"That sounds like me."
He left it there.
No mention of tiers.
No boasting about reaching Tier Three or Four.
From his aura alone, Kel could guess—Landon was likely at early Path Seeker stage. Tier Three. Perhaps touching the edges of Tier Four when pushed, his star still growing roots rather than branches.
Good.
Reliable.
Not flashy.
Harder to break.
Kel nodded slightly.
"A stubborn star," he said. "Fitting."
Landon's mouth twisted. "That's one way to call me dumb, I suppose."
Kel didn't correct him.
Because he wasn't wrong.
But he also wasn't only that.
Reina's Sky
Kel turned his gaze to Reina.
Her bowl was still half-full.
Her spoon untouched since the first whispers of constellations began.
She met his eyes directly.
Her own were steady.
Dark.
"You already know my family," she said. "Even if not by detail."
Kel inclined his head.
House Asheville.
Warrior lineage.
Fell through betrayal.
Bloodline trained for combat more than court.
"Our kind doesn't pray for love or fortune," she continued. "Our children are raised beneath constellations that favor blades."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"How many answered you?" he asked.
Reina's gaze flicked briefly to the fire.
Then back.
"Five," she said at last.
Landon exhaled through his teeth. "…Five."
That was not a number to dismiss.
She named them, her voice flat, unaffected—as if reciting an inventory, though something faint moved beneath.
"Silent Huntress.Frost Crow.Broken Crown.The Pale Thorn. …and The Distant Lantern."
Kel felt something in his chest tighten.
Not from the curse.
From recognition.
Each of those constellations belonged to paths that could turn dangerous in later tiers.
Silent Huntress – assassin or precision duelist.
Frost Crow – frost reconnaissance, omen paths.
Broken Crown – rebellion, anti-authority. High Divergence risk.
Pale Thorn – subtle killing, poison, bleed.
Distant Lantern – guiding others from afar. Often support or strategist line.
Kel's eyes darkened.
"And which," he asked quietly, "did you choose?"
Reina's fingers tightened around her spoon.
Her shoulders did not move.
Her throat worked once.
"I haven't," she said.
Landon blinked. "You… what?"
Her gaze slid to him briefly.
Then back to Kel.
"House Asheville fell before my choice was formalized," she said. "The priest who oversaw my Awakening died that year. The new lord wanted nothing to do with a girl whose constellations pointed toward paths he could not control."
A pause.
The fire seemed louder.
"I ran long before they could force a star upon me."
Kel stared at her.
His chest rose slowly.
Then fell.
A Path Seeker suspended between paths. Astral Initialization without Branch Evolution.
Tier Two. Still.
He realized why her movements in combat had felt so… unbound.
She was trained.
Brutally so.
But her soul had not yet locked into a star's image.
He spoke softly.
"So you stand," he said, "with five doors open."
Reina's lips pressed into a thin line.
"Five chains," she corrected. "None yet chosen."
Kel almost smiled.
Almost.
"You see them as chains," he said. "Good."
Landon frowned. "Isn't that… bad?" he asked. "Choosing late? Doesn't it make your growth slow?"
Reina's eyes flicked toward him.
"It makes my death slower to decide whose game I'll play in," she answered.
Landon grimaced. "Fair."
Kel's gaze remained on her.
"And if you were pressed," he asked, "now… what would you choose?"
For a heartbeat, something almost like uncertainty surfaced in her eyes.
Then it smoothed.
"Silent Huntress," she said quietly. "Or Distant Lantern."
Kel's brows rose slightly.
"One to kill alone."
He tilted his head.
"One to guide others from behind."
Reina's jaw tightened.
"I do not yet know," she said, "if I am meant to strike ahead… or keep others from losing their way."
Her gaze flickered over both of them.
Barely.
Like a shadow passing across stone.
"So I am waiting."
Kel sat back.
Snow pressed faintly against the inn's windows.
Outside, stars were hidden.
Inside, three paths sat at one table—
One starless.
One mountain-bound.
One split between five doors.
Kel's hand dropped to rest lightly over his own chest.
Where no constellation's light had ever yet touched this life.
Mortal Origin, he thought. By their measure.
Tier One. The cursed heir walking north without a single star to guard him.
He exhaled.
His breath fogged.
Even here.
Good.
He had no intention of stepping into their astral ladder.
His path was not among the eighty-eight.
His eyes lowered.
My path lies in the cracks those stars fail to illuminate.
Aloud, he said only:
"Stars chosen or not… monsters won't care for our tier names."
He looked at both of them.
Calm.
Cold.
Certain.
"Eat," he said. "Rest. Tomorrow, we walk into a north that is already moving."
Reina lifted her spoon again.
Landon straightened.
Whispers about constellations continued to float through the room—arguments over which paths were best to fight in the snow, which weapons fit which stars, which tiers survived the longest.
Kel listened once.
Then let the voices fade.
Above Ashstone, beyond storm clouds, the constellations watched with their own cold eyes.
Below, at a small table near the fire, sat one boy without a star.
And two who had already stepped into the framework of the sky—
Unaware that they were sitting beside someone who fully intended to break that sky's rules.